He shook his head.
“I don’t know the neighbourhood at all,” he said. “I have only been here two or three times, and only for a few hours together. Is the village—oh yes, I remember—is the Manor-house on the way to the church?”
“Yes,” I replied, and I went on to explain, as well as I could, whereabouts stood our temporary home. Then a sudden remembrance flashed across me, and I exclaimed impulsively, “Was it not you whom I met a week or two ago out there?” and I nodded towards the road, “You had lost your pocket-book?”
“Exactly,” he replied; “and you kindly looked for it. One good turn deserves another. I wonder how I can best help you and your brother just now. By-the-bye, my fly must be at the door by this time.” He peered at his watch. “I am—I was to catch the London express, if possible.”
“Oh don’t,” I began.
“It is not of enormous importance if I miss it,” he said. “It’s about the fly.”
“Reggie,” whispered Moore, “stoop down a moment.”
I did no, and nodded in agreement.
“If,” I began again—“the thing is—can we possibly get Moore home without any one knowing about it? About how it happened, I mean? You don’t know how perfectly horrible it would be for Mr Wynyard to know. He is very, very particular, and he would make no allowances or excuses.” Here I unconsciously clasped my hands in entreaty. “If we were at home,” I went on, “I would tell father and mamma all about it. Don’t think I want to conceal it from them. But as visitors—and Moore is sure to be laid up here for some time.”
“I see,” said our friend thoughtfully. “It would be rather horrid for you. But—can you propose anything?”